Picking up a Brit in Eight Easy Steps
by USxArthurxKirklandxUK
Summary: America tries, repeatedly, to use pick-up lines on England. And each time, he fails miserably. USUK, humor.


**Picking Up a Brit in Eight Easy Steps**

**Summary: America tries, repeatedly, to use pick-up lines on England. And each time, he fails miserably. USUK, humor.**

**A/N: Dedicated to my BETA, PiratedxHearts, who came up with the title and helped me with the pick up lines… which was quite the fun conversation, actually. XD**

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

England was at his usual pub, with his usual drink, at the usual time. He sipped at the pint of ale, watching a football (not _soccer,_ no matter what that idiot America said) match on the television in the corner. His usual drinking partner was next to him, nursing a glass of wine.

England took a long swig of his alcoholic beverage. He couldn't stand France unless he was completely wasted. France, on the other hand, seemed more than willing to come with whenever England went on his weekly drinking binges every Friday night.

The door to the street opened and the small bell above the door tinkled delicately as a new patron came in – which was unusual, considering it was only four in the afternoon. Arthur usually had the bar to himself until five, not counting Francis.

To England's surprise, a certain tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed American strolled into the pub, looking casual. England raised an eyebrow and then turned his attention back to the alcohol in his hands. He promptly signaled the bartender for another pint, knowing he'd need it soon.

He managed to ignore America until the other country was leaning against the bar next to him, his legs crossed casually, a big, carefree grin on his face. "So… England…"

"What?" England asked testily, forcing himself to look back at his former charge.

"How about you lose the zero," America gestured towards France, "and get with the hero?"

England stared at his once brother, his expression shocked for a few seconds, before he finally recovered enough to retort. "I don't see a hero around. I'll call if I find one."

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"It didn't work…"

"Damn. Plan B."

"What's Plan B?"

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Once again, England was in his favorite pub. This time, he'd decided to ditch Francis. America had been acting strange the night before, and that was putting it lightly. Sighing heavily and drinking deeply from his mug, England tried to put it out of his mind. He still had a slight headache from the hangover he'd had this morning, but a few Tylenol later and he was sure he'd be fine.

"Hey, England."

Bloody Hell. "Hello, America… What do you want?"

America smiled widely. "Well… just wanted to tell you that, if I could rearrange the Alphabet… I'd put U and I together."

England stared at him for a few seconds, expression monotonous, only changing when his left eye twitched in irritation. "Really? I'd put F and U together." The Briton turned back to his ale, taking a deeper swig of the beverage.

America frowned, but again retreated. He had to go talk with his 'tactical advisor'.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"He shot me down again."

"Well, you obviously aren't saying them right," Hungary said, huffing a bit, her hands on her hips. "All right. Fine. Let's try Plan C."

"How many plans do you have, anyways?"

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

England sighed, rubbing his temples. They were at a break at a world meeting. It had been nearly a week since he'd seen America. It was Friday again, and damn it, he needed a drink something fierce. What the hell was wrong with him, anyways?

"Hey, England!"

England jumped a bit, looking over at America. He seemed normal enough. Maybe he'd been drunk when he'd used those God-awful pickup lines. He could only pray, anyways… "Ah, hello, America…" America didn't stop smiling. "…Is something wrong?"

"Nope."

There was a long pause before England sighed. "What's on your mind?"

America smiled wider. "Nothing much… I was just thinking how cute we'd look on a cake together."

England felt his cheeks light up a bit, turning pink. Fighting down the blush, he responded with his usual biting sarcasm. "Only if the cake's filled with cyanide," he hissed before stalking away.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"He turned you down again?"

America nodded, dejected.

"Damn it, Alfred!" Hungary glared at him. "Learn the art of romance! These should all at least make him _laugh_!"

America laughed nervously. "They seem to annoy him, actually…"

"Hmph… Fine. Plan D. This'll definitely work."

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

Arthur downed his third glass of rum, just to have it replaced by the bartender. He knew there was a reason why he liked this guy. He took a sip of the liquid, enjoying the taste. He knew that he'd likely regret his drinking binge the next morning, but Alfred was acting strange. Well, stranger than normal, anyways.

He saw someone sit next to him out of the corner of his eye. He had a feeling…

Unfortunately, he was correct. "A martini, shaken, not stirred." America turned to England, his expression that of quiet amusement. "The name's Bond. James Bond."

"And mine would be Off. Fuck Off," England responded dryly, leaving his bartender's tip money on the bar and leaving without another word.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"Hungary, what makes you think any of these are gonna work?" America asked, sighing. "Arthur just seems to get angry at me for trying all of these…"

"Maybe you should try something that's more you," Hungary said thoughtfully. "Something that just screams 'America'… Oh! I got it!"

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

England wasn't stupid, by any means. He had a feeling that America was trying to pick him up. But until the idiot got it through his head that these stupid pickup lines wouldn't work on him, he would continue shooting him down. He had more than enough experience shooting down Francis – coming up with witty responses to pickup lines was practically second nature by now.

As usual, after England's first drink, America entered the bar. England sighed, wondering just what was in store for him today.

"If you were a burger, you'd be a McGorgeous."

"Excuse me while I vomit."

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

America didn't even have to say anything this time. "Well, it makes sense, considering how much he hates burgers…" Hungary sighed. "All right, here we go… Plan F…"

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

England downed another shot of vodka. He hated business trips. The only good part about being stuck in Moscow was the good alcohol content of the local hard liquor. America had left him alone so far, though, so it was going about as well as he could have hoped.

America sat next to him, motioning for the bartender to bring him a few shots of the same vodka that Arthur was currently downing like water.

A few minutes passed as the two countries drank, the silence comfortable. England was starting to feel confident that there would be no corny, lame, idiotic pickup lines tonight.

"Hey, England?"

"Hm?" England sipped at the water the bartender had given him. He needed to slow down, or he'd end up completely wasted after only a few shots.

"I've been looking at some palm-reading books, and I wanna read your fortune."

England raised an eyebrow. He highly doubted any of the palmistry books America had dug up at Barnes & Noble could compete with the vast library on the subject he had in his basement, but he supposed he could humor him. He offered his hand to America, who covered his hand from sight, pulled out a pen, and began writing on the pale flesh of his palm. Arthur could only imagine he was tracing the crease marks.

Alfred gave his hand back. "Your future is clear."

Arthur looked down at his hand. America's phone number was written on his palm, along with a heart and the words "Call me".

England looked up at America dryly, raising an eyebrow. "A hundred thousand sperm, and you were the fastest," he responded wryly, standing from his seat without excusing himself.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"Arthur is one hard nut to crack…"

"Hungary, I don't think these are working…"

"I still have a few sure-fire ones that'll work!" Hungary promised.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

It was their last day in Moscow. Down the bar, England could see Finland getting into a drinking contest with Denmark. Despite his looks, Finland could down a surprisingly large amount of liquor.

England sighed, sipping at his brandy and coke mixture. He'd been feeling rather irate today – more so than usual, at least. America was frustrating. Why the hell couldn't he be a normal person and just ask if they could go get coffee or something? Who the hell was telling him these stupid lines were a good idea?

"Can I get your picture?"

England felt a headache coming on. He sighed, exacerbated. "What for, Alfred?"

"So I can show Santa what I want for Christmas."

"He already has a brain for you on layaway," England responded, deadpan.

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"All right, fine. If England wants to play hardball, I'm game," Hungary laughed.

America stared at her warily. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

~*~*~*~USUK~*~*~*~

"England?"

England sighed. He felt like just turning around and punching America now. _Just ask me something normal. Ask to go out for that thrice-damned coffee of yours, ask to go to the movies, just please, God, no more bloody _pickup lines. "Yes?"

"Did it hurt?"

"When I fell from Heaven?" England responded. "Oldest one in the book, Alfred."

America sighed heavily, looking away. "I know… Damn it, I'm no good at this."

"Look." England leaned against the wall next to him. "Cut the crap. I'll meet you for coffee at that Starbucks you love so much tomorrow at three. Don't be late." With that, England turned on his heel, walking out of the meeting room curtly, finally satisfied that there would be no more of the irritating clichés.

America stared after him for a few moments before blinking, smiling a bit, and following after him, a new spring in his step.


End file.
